


a day like this

by neroh



Series: like blood in my veins [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt!Merlin, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentions of a deceased character, Post V-Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6270442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In world where foes run rampant, it’s a fucking car accident that takes out Merlin and the irony does not fail to fall upon Eggsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a terrible person and Bre, Leah, and Momo are my enablers.

Merlin wakes on a typical and grey morning in London, as one usually does.

The rain splatters against the windows of his flat along with intermittent sounds of the traffic below like most early mornings have always done. There is nothing particularly special about this day; in fact, it’s just as ordinary as any other Saturday.

Tomorrow shall be different. It will be Valentine’s Day, a ridiculous Hallmark holiday designed to drive up greeting card, chocolate, and flower sales while couples profess their undying love in fancy restaurants, _and_ V-Day. The solitary date that the world almost stopped; where people fell victim to mindless violence while a madman watched in perverse delight.

Tomorrow the world will remember and mourn those lives lost. Stores will shutter their windows and doors, governments, schools, and universities will be in recess, candlelight vigils will be held. It will be a quiet day and come midnight, the world will go on.

Today, however, marks the year that’s passed since Harry Hart was shot and killed in the line of duty.

A year since Merlin watched his best friend’s brains come out the back of his skull, splattering onto the pavement before his body followed. Over three hundred days since his grief was so palpable that all Merlin could do was remove his glasses and turn away from his computer monitors.

Thirty years of friendship gone with a single bullet.

He stares up at the ceiling, breathing in and out as his thoughts wander. There was no way that any of them could have saved Harry, even the man himself. It’s the nature of being a Kingsman agent and while death is expected, Merlin was so certain that he and Harry would make it into their golden years. Two grumpy old men who would go to the pub and watch Arsenal while they bickered endlessly. It would have been a happy retirement had it not been for Richmond Valentine.

Merlin turns his head and finds himself looking at his boyfriend’s sleeping face. Eggsy Unwin, for all his bravado, the most beautiful specimen he’s ever laid eyes on. In the natural light peeking through the curtains, he is unabashedly at ease and still dreaming. Merlin resists the urge to run his fingers through the lad’s rumpled hair, for it will more likely than not result in Eggsy waking.

Tomorrow will be a year since the relationship between himself and Eggsy changed. Gone are the days of mentor-mentee, ending with an explosive encounter on board of Archimedes. Both men found their thoughts consumed of one another, though it took some time for either of them to admit it. But admit they did.

One of Eggsy’s freckled shoulders brushes against Merlin’s arm, the touch pulling the lad from sleep. His boyfriend’s features, ever expressive in their usual wont, wrinkle as the young man makes the climb to consciousness. In the first moments of wakefulness, Eggsy realizes what day it is. His eyes darken with sadness when he looks at Merlin, each of them in thoughtful reflection of the friend they lost.

Speaking of Harry is still too painful for the lad to bear; if Eggsy happens to say anything at all, it’s a quick anecdote before he changes the subject. Whatever the gentleman had meant to his boyfriend, Merlin will never truly know, but he understands.

Harry Hart, for all his quirks and walls, managed to affect everyone he came into contact with.

Merlin silently beckons Eggsy to come to him, watching as the lad closes the space between them. A sigh of relief emerges from his lips as he welcomes the weight of his boyfriend’s head upon his chest. In turn, his arms find themselves around Eggsy’s waist.

They settle against each other and linger in the silence; it’s just as well as both of them are lost in their own thoughts of Harry. From the time Merlin was a green lad of nineteen and being addressed as Hamish (or Greaves by the taskmaster whose name he cannot recall), his life involved Harry in some way.

Henry William George De Vere Hart, a member of the British peerage of twenty-two, had been every bit the cocky bastard as the Kingsman candidates who came after him. He was what one could describe as gangly, still hovering between a stage in which Harry resembled more of a schoolboy than a man. He wore popped collars with vests and his hair in disarray; the height of eighties fashion and a regret neither of them will live down.

The exception between them and the man who Merlin would call his friend, despite his airs, was a true gentleman and put his welfare behind the needs of others. No one was ever below him, which could not be said for his counterparts. By the time they were the last recruits standing for the mantles of Merlin and Galahad, Harry had gone out of his way to memorizing each staff members’ names, offering them a pleasant smile and greeting whenever their paths crossed.

More so, he offered Merlin his lifelong friendship. A relationship that went beyond just being mates, but family. Even when he wanted to punch Harry in his smug face, Merlin knew he could always count on his friend. Every event or memory had Harry at the fringes or in the fray.

And now he’s been gone for a full year. He’ll never see Merlin trying—and failing, failing so miserably—to avoid falling in love with Eggsy or how both of them managed to find a relationship in the wreckage of a near-global catastrophe.

No, Harry is dead and buried under six feet of soil.

Thinking of his friend in death’s repose brings tears to Merlin’s eyes. They don’t fall, though the taste of them is bitter inside of his mouth.

He hears Eggsy’s muffled whimper before the shaking of the lad’s shoulders resonates in his arms. Merlin tilts his cheek against the top of his boyfriend’s head and closes his eyes only to feel wetness sliding down his face. It’s hot against his skin and where it gathers over his heart, in part to Eggsy’s quiet sobs.

No amount of tears will bring Harry back. His sacrifices will only be remembered by those who knew and largely uncelebrated by the world.

It doesn’t matter as he and Eggsy hold each other and it’s no one’s business but their own.

 

* * *

 

As Eggsy towels his hair, he thinks of how strange it is that his relationship with Merlin came in the wake of violence and bloodshed.

Usually, such thoughts never cross his mind, but today has him on edge. Sadness has sunk their sharp claws into Eggsy and the feeling ain’t easy to shake. Life goes on, though. It has to because that’s what Harry would have wanted.

Eggsy’s chest constricts at the mere recollection of his predecessor; a man who impacted his life for the better with a single question and the press of a button. A man whom he knew just enough, but not as much as he wanted to. In death, Harry Hart will remain out of Eggsy’s reach.

And a ghostly presence in the form of old photographs and half-told stories in the home of his boyfriend.

Not that Eggsy wants to ask Merlin about their elusive friend; he’d rather swallow down his grief and keep going in hopes that the ache will eventually disappear.

Besides, it’s not like he knew Harry for long. The way Eggsy sees it, he ain’t got rights to be sobbing over the chap. If time had allowed it, perhaps he and Harry could have been mates or even something else if Eggsy hadn’t cocked it all up during the final task.

Nah, they weren’t more than what it was.

Harry Hart was nothing but a Henry Higgins sort of bloke who taught him etiquette and how to make a proper martini. He was a white knight in a tailored suit rather than shining armor and an arsenal of high tech gadgets as his weapons. Harry came in like a bleeding saint and left a martyr…

…and two people who missed him dearly.

Eggsy rubs at his eyes, swearing down that he won’t cry anymore today. He has already spent the morning in bed with Merlin, sobbing out his grief while his boyfriend did his in silence. For the six months they’ve been officially together, Eggsy can’t recall a single time Merlin shed a tear.

A look of concern, some swearing with a Scottish lit when Eggsy is inches from a colossal fuck up that becomes a near-miss, a secretive smile for when he has something up his sleeve, and a fond expression that Merlin will deny if anyone ever mentions it.

His boyfriend of a half-year—the taskmaster, tech wizard, and the very picture of composure—lets his guard down when Eggsy least expects it. By the time both men were able to pull apart and go about their day, Eggsy caught the remnants of tear stains upon Merlin’s cheeks and redness around the eyes that comes after a good cry.

His boyfriend who is cooking them a late breakfast so it seems. The smell of eggs and bacon wafts through the flat, straight to Eggsy’s nose. The rumbling of his stomach comes as it always does when Merlin cooks and he decides to leave the privacy of the bathroom to finish getting dressed. Eggsy pads out to the kitchen and finds Merlin standing over the stove with a turner in hand, humming over a pan of scrambled eggs. His boyfriend is rather preoccupied with other things for he barely notices Eggsy’s presence when the lad comes up right behind him.

He wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist and sighs into the space between his shoulder blades. “Mornin’,” he greets, words muffled by fabric. Eggsy feels the warmth of Merlin underneath chased by his crisp, clean scent with a hint of spice from his aftershave.

“Morning,” Merlin replies, distracted. “These are almost done if you’d like to set the table.”

Eggsy plants a kiss against the unblemished skin of his boyfriend’s nape and sets off to do his bidding. Not that he minds. He’d be a fool to deny that he enjoys the domestic life he and Merlin have managed to carve out when they aren’t saving the world. Having a safe space is nicer than he imaged. Eggsy can bitch about his top-secret job or, alternatively, nurse his souvenirs from missions. Then there’s obviously the sex because what kind of twenty-something would Eggsy be without admitting that he likes the good, hard fucks Merlin gives or on occasion, what _he_ gives Merlin when he’s down for a buggering.

Eggsy figures they will have one of those days where they bum around the flat and laze in the living room while the telly plays on in the background. Perhaps the quiet will do them some good and they can process life without Harry.

Not that they haven’t, but today makes his death real.

Breakfast is a sedate affair; Eggsy does the crossword while Merlin reads the news on his tablet. Neither of them has bothered in making a pot of tea and neither seems inclined to.

“Eleven across; only a personal impression but admissible as evidence,” he mentions, tearing his eyes away from the paper. “Got anythin’?”

Merlin sips on his orange juice. “Fingerprint,” he replies.

“Bloody hell!” Eggsy curses as he scribbles the answer in. “How you manage to know everythin’ is a mystery amongst us mere mortals.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” the older man quips.

Eggsy snorts. “Magician,” he utters. The word causes another snort. “A wizard, you mean. Magicians just perform optical illusions while you make magic with that brain of yours.”

“Excessive and insincere praise, especially that given to further one's own interests,” Merlin responds. His lips are twitching at the corners, trying hard to conceal the beginnings of a smile. “Also known as flattery.”

Eggsy makes an offended noise. “Me? Use flattery?” He drops his fork onto the plate. “Well, I _never_ , Mr. Greaves,” Eggsy exclaims as he rises from his seat and goes to bother Merlin. He drops his chin into the curve of his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I know better than use pretty words on you, babe.”

“As you should,” Merlin agrees, settling into Eggsy’s chest.

He reaches for his boyfriend’s pointed chin, speckled with stubble. The rough texture sends a delightful sensation from Eggsy’s fingertips through the rest of his body. For all of Merlin’s teasing, the chap has quite the effect on him. He brushes the tip of his thumb over the plush line of the older man’s bottom lip before leaning in to chase it with his tongue.

The moment starts off tentative as their lips touch. Merlin opens his mouth enough to trap Eggsy’s lip between his own, worrying the slick flesh with his tongue. The angle is awkward, though that doesn’t matter to Eggsy. He’s been in far worse positions and those never deterred him from moving forward.

He teases his boyfriend’s lips apart until Eggsy can take everything Merlin has to offer. He relishes the softness of the other man’s mouth and how his fingers curl around his arm, possessive and tender. It’s as if Merlin’s body language says _mine_ without uttering the words.

They breathe together; their exhales mingling as Eggsy is guided to his boyfriend’s lap where he sits. Hands caress his back through the material of his shirt, massaging and touching until Eggsy can only groan in reply.

“I’m likely to do very ungentlemanly things to you upon this table,” Merlin whispers against Eggsy’s kiss-swollen mouth.

Eggsy cups his lover’s face. “I’m likely to let you,” he replies before swooping in for more. He must look like a wreck of flushed cheeks, but he can hardly think of anything else. “Fuck, you’re so hot, bruv. I swear I have to beat them blokes and birds off with a stick.”

“You are too kind, _a ghràidh_ ,” Merlin tells him, hands upon Eggsy’s flanks. The color of the older man’s eyes have melted into a lovely shade to indicate his arousal; two whirlpools of golds, browns, and greens Eggsy wishes he could drown in.

Instead, he presses two gentle pecks upon each lid, trailing his lips over sharp cheekbones and the tip of Merlin’s Roman nose. Eggsy whispers his appreciation with a colorful array of words until he’s cut off by his boyfriend’s greedy mouth against his own.

He whines; it’s the only vocal reaction he can make because fuck if Merlin’s kissing can render Eggsy speechless. Pawing his shoulders, Eggsy grinds his crotch down upon his lover’s lap. The pure want he feels for Merlin is something Eggsy has never experienced; that visceral need to have him nearby. It doesn’t matter if they are naked and tangled up in a knot of limbs or seated next to each other during a Round Table meeting.

“Please,” he moans while his lover manipulates his earlobe. Eggsy tilts his head, giving Merlin more room to do whatever his heart desires. “Fuck, babe. I fuckin’ want you so bad! Might cum in my pants if you don’t start carryin’ me to the bedroom.”

Merlin’s grip tightens momentarily. “As much as I’d like to keep you in bed all day,” he says, planting three kisses upon Eggsy’s neck. “I need to go visit Harry.”

“Oh,” Eggsy intones, all lust funneling out of his body.

It must be obvious for Merlin pulls back and narrows his eyes at Eggsy’s pout. “Don’t be like that, _a ghràidh_ ,” he tells him, thumbing at the protruding bottom lip. “Perhaps you want to come with? We can go to the florist and get some roses…”

“How about not?” Eggsy suggests, slipping off of Merlin’s lap. He scoops up his plate and eating utensils, bringing them to be washed in the sink. “I’ll just hang about here and wait for you, yeah?”

“You’ll be awfully bored.”

He shrugs. “I’ll be awfully bored there, too,” Eggsy replies. “But at least your flat has HBO.”

“Eggsy,” Merlin warns.

“Hamish,” he fires back with the same exasperated tone. They engage in a short staring contest before he gives in with a groan and an accompanying eye roll. “I just…if I go to Harry’s grave, it means ‘im bein’ dead is real and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

His boyfriend pulls an unreadable expression; strange since Eggsy can read Merlin so easily. “I can assure you,” the older man begins to say, “that Harry’s death is very real.”

“I know it’s fuckin’ real, alright?” Eggsy mutters, trying to hide his irritation. “I know; I get reminded every fuckin’ day!”

Merlin makes a soft sound; a sigh perhaps? “Then you should come, Eggsy,” he presses, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to do anything…just stand there with me.”

“Why?” Eggsy questions. He feels his frustration and grief simmering to a boil. “What good would it do? Harry will still be dead when we leave.”

There is a pause; it consumes the room and swallows any remnants of their earlier encounter as if it never existed. “You, my dear boy,” Merlin nearly snarls, “haven’t had to deal with death.”

“Oi!” Eggsy yells. “Excuse me, bruv, but did you forget ‘bout my dad? You know the bloke you and Harry got killed?” He shoves himself away from the counter, balling his fists as he inhales deeply. “Haven’t dealt with death,” he mutters. “That’s fuckin’ _rich_ comin’ from you, of all people!”

His boyfriend must stand judging by the sound of chair legs scraping against the kitchen floor. “That was rude of me…” Merlin starts to say.

“Rude don’t even cover it!” Eggsy shouts, whirling around to face him. “Did you forget ‘bout him or summat?”

“Of course not!” Merlin snaps back, his features darkening. If he hadn’t been so pissed, Eggsy would admit that Merlin looks positively beautiful and scary when he’s angry, possessive, and so fucking stubborn that he could scream. “I think of your father every day, Eggsy! Every fucking day; just like I think of Harry.”

He laughs, the sound shriller than he expects. “And you think I don’t?” Eggsy bites back. “Just ‘cuz I don’t wanna cry over his grave doesn’t mean shit! We’ll still be alive and he’ll be six feet under; ain’t no changin’ that!”

Silence overwhelms the space between them, pushing at the corners and creating a canyon. Merlin stills as if Eggsy has slapped him. The edges of his face have gone pale and for the briefest moment, Eggsy wonders if Merlin will attack. Unsurprisingly Merlin does the gentlemanly thing. “I am not in the mood for this discussion,” he states. The column of his throat moves as he swallows. “Perhaps it would be best if you leave.”

If Eggsy were being rational— which pro tip: he’s not—he would know that Merlin is trying to spare them the additional heartache of a fight. The anger he felt earlier is attacking his body, turning his blood hot and his fists into balls of fury. “Fine,” he grunts, stomping towards the entryway where his jacket and messenger bag lie. He snatches them up. “Fine! Have a fine fuckin’ day at the cemetery. Write me a postcard while you’re there!”

He doesn’t bother to wait for Merlin’s reply; Eggsy just slams the front door shut instead.

 

* * *

 

Merlin notes as he walks upon the central pathway that Brompton Cemetery is lovely this time of year, which is certainly a strange thing to think because he's in a cemetery, but he’s nervous because of where he’s heading. 

It’s unusually quiet with very few patrons visiting their loved ones as he passes. Some are clearing debris away from headstones while others are switching old flowers for new bouquets. All of the people he encounters have the same look he does; solemn and tense.

Tomorrow will different and Merlin reckons that the cemetery, among others, will be filled with people and colorful floral arrangements. He is fine with the quiet and the bouquet of peonies; Harry’s favorite. They aren’t the traditional flower of grief and while Harry had his traditions, he had his quirks too.  _Leave it to you to be a stubborn berk in death_ , he muses to himself. Merlin finds the Hart family plot easy enough; it’s one of the largest in the cemetery and probably the grandest.

Filled with relatives from the mid-nineteenth century and onward, the plot is neatly maintained almost to the point of obsession. Merlin reckons that someone—probably Harry’s mother—arranged it with the cemetery as she was a woman who liked order, a trait undoubtedly passed onto her son.

Harry’s headstone is the newest and a classic affair of marble. A lion rests upon the top, licking its paw while its tail is carved near the epitaph. What is written is rather simple for such a complex man; just Harry’s full name, the date of his birth and death.

There are no wise words or psalms etched into the marble, which is just as well because his friend would have rolled his eyes.

Merlin kneels down to set the bouquet against the headstone. He follows the action with crossing his heart and uttering a prayer in Gaelic before taking a seat upon the stone bench just inches away. Merlin shivers as the cold sinks through the material of his trousers, huffing a sigh.

“Well, mate, you’ve been dead for a year,” he says to the headstone. “That would be three hundred and sixty-five days without your arse driving me up a wall. Don’t worry, there are plenty of others trying to fill the position.” Merlin picks at a fallen leaf, flinging it off the bench. “Eggsy is one of them, which I’m sure doesn’t surprise you. Does a good job of it, too. Drives me absolutely mad at times.”

Clasping his gloved hands together, Merlin gazes upon them while his mind reels. A full year without his friend and the ache hurts as much as it did on the day he died. His eyes water at the realization.

“Fuck, Harry,” he croaks, trying to ignore how his lips tremble. “I miss you; more than I thought I would. Remember when we first met in the training barracks? You had that shit Duran Duran haircut and I fancied myself as another broody teenager from Edinburgh.”

Merlin laughs at the picture in his mind: of Harry with his horrid taste in attire and himself sulking next to him. What a strange pair they made; what close friends they ended up being.

“Eggsy is doing well even if his methods are rather unorthodox,” Merlin continues. “They gave him your designation a few months after…” He sniffs and removes a glove to wipe his nose. “You’d be so fucking proud of him, chum. He’s so good at what he does and furthermore, he’s happy. I have no doubts that you knew this life would agree with him when you submitted him for candidacy. He’s everything we hoped Lee would be…and more. And he’s so fucking stubborn that sometimes I want to scream.”

Their first row as a couple comes to mind. It’s surprising that it’s taken them six months to have an argument—a real one. At first glance, he and Eggsy seem very mismatched, but as one delves deeper, their differences complement each other. Where Eggsy is hot-headed, Merlin is calm, and so on.

“I always wondered what you planned on doing with him,” Merlin says. “You would have been a good mentor to him if that is what you wanted. Or maybe you always knew that he and I would fit.” He laughs, the sound coming out as a strangled cry rather amusement. “You must have known, you wanker. You always had that eerie foresight, you did, and you must have seen it when you introduced us. It took me a while to realize it, but we work.”

Merlin looks around the cemetery, scanning for other visitors and to gather his thoughts. “We had our first row this morning. Over you, of course,” he tells the headstone. “He never likes to talk about you, Harry. Eggsy misses you, that’s for certain. I just…I worry about him is all. I thought if he came here with me, it would help some. Instead, we got into it and without the make-up sex.”

He snorts at the last statement and rolls his eyes. “I have no one else I can talk to about this, except for Percy, but he’s hardly what I’d call a good listener. You _always_ listened, Harry, and I have no doubt that you would have done if you were still here.”

Groaning, Merlin adjusts himself on the bench. “For all things sacred and holy, I love that boy. Even when I want to wring his bloody neck, I can’t imagine waking up without him next to me. And hogging the duvet; unsurprising, I know. When you tell him about it, he denies it and bats his lashes like he’s an NPL! You’d laugh, Harry, and tease me endlessly.”

The air is growing colder and Merlin slides his discarded glove back on as he stands. “Well, chum,” he says to Harry’s grave, reaching out to touch the stone. “Thank you for what you’ve done for us and I’ll keep him safe. After I apologize, of course.”

He ventures back to his car, feeling a bit lighter than he expected. Merlin chuckles to himself, noting how Harry managed to affect him in such a way.

“Cheeky bugger,” he mutters while fishing his keys from his jacket pocket.

Hitting the unlock button on the key fob, Merlin opens the driver side door and slips inside, forever grateful for heated seats. The engine starts and he begins the slow ride out of the cemetery, humming to himself as Merlin thinks how he’ll phone Eggsy once he’s home.

Pulling out of Brompton is met with very little traffic for the time of day. Merlin pays no mind to it and turns on the stereo system, having grown tired of the quiet. He hears the first note of Led Zeppelin…

…before it’s interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the impact of force.

He careens into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about having someone like Roxy Morton as your friend is her uncanny ability to put things into perspective but not without teasing you about it first.

Eggsy manages to swallow back a groan, though his eyes roll hard enough to cause an ache. “Come off it, Rox,” he complains.

“Come off what?” she asks all innocently as she steals a chip from his plate. Eggsy is too late to bat her hand away. “You should know by now that I will _always_ make fun of you, Unwin.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” he tells her. “Don’t you want to know why I popped over unannounced and in a crap mood?”

Roxy shrugs, obviously preoccupied with their lunch. “Figured Merlin wanted some quiet time and chucked you out.”

“Almost correct,” Eggsy mumbles. He plays with his food, dipping it in sauce and drawing smiley faces until the silence becomes too much. “We had our first fight,” he confesses.

Roxy tilts her head, confused. “I thought you two fucking on Archimedes was your first fight.”

“Nah. That was our first fuck.”

She is nonchalant when it comes to her friends and colleagues’ relationship, only offering another shrug. That’s Roxy for you, both casual and downright sarcastic. “Hard to keep it straight with you lot.”

Eggsy makes an offended sound, eyes wide because first off, _rude_ , and secondly, he likes to think that he and Merlin are fairly straightforward. “You’re a proper wanker, you are! I come over here to tell you ‘bout the first fight I’ve had with my chap and here you are makin’ fun of me!” Eggsy huffs dramatically as he leans back in his seat. “Some mate you are,” he mutters.

Roxy laughs at him for a good minute before she realizes that Eggsy is serious. “Really?” she questions, surprised. “This is _really_ your first fight? Huh.”

She drops the chip in her hand, profoundly dumbfounded which doesn’t sit well with him. “What?” Eggsy snaps.

“Nothing,” Roxy tells him. “I’m just surprised is all; I would have thought the honeymoon period would have been over months ago.”

A fit of laughter bursts forth from Eggsy’s mouth. “Honeymoon?” he squawks, having to clutch his stomach. “Merlin and me havin’ a honeymoon? You’re gone off the deep end, Rox! We’s never had a honeymoon; went straight from a fistfight to fuckin’. Skipped all the other shit.”

“Well, I should have figured as much,” Roxy says, her dour tone matching her scowl. “You two are rather unorthodox with how you do things.”

“I will give you that,” Eggsy relents, pouting. He flicks a chip onto her plate, chuckling as it lands in a pile of ketchup. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As she picks up the chip, Roxy rolls her eyes and pops it into her mouth. “I’ll try not to,” she deadpans.

They continue in a comfortable silence; Eggsy pouts and makes moony eyes at his mobile while Roxy noshes and people watch.

It’s a force of habit when one works for a top secret spy organization you start to notice everything about the general population. How they hold themselves, how their body language is reflecting one’s current mindset, or if someone is being dodgy. Which, thank _fuck_ , is not the case. Eggsy isn’t any mood to throw punches and save the bloody world for the umpteenth time.

“You should call him,” Roxy suggests while crunching down on an ice cube.

“How the fuck can you even stand doin’ that?” Eggsy fires back, wincing as her front teeth touch the frozen block.

She crunches it again, baring the ice cube’s demise with a grin. “Quit changing the subject. Call him and tell him you’re sorry.” Roxy tosses in a glare for good measure before saying, “And don’t even think about telling me it’s _his_ fault!”

“You don’t know,” Eggsy hisses, “it _might_ be!”

“Doubtful.” She is fishing for another ice cube now, shaking her glass and finding her next victim. “Merlin is more sensible than you.”

He pulls a face and folds his arms over his chest. “Lies,” Eggsy grumbles.

“Men,” Roxy snorts as she pushes Eggsy’s mobile closer to him. “Just call him. I can’t take you looking so bloody pathetic.”

“He’s probably still at the cemetery,” Eggsy counters, his eyes on the sleek device. “Won’t want to bother ‘im.”

She nudges it closer. “Then text him,” she suggests softly, which he ends up doing.

It’s a quick message and ends with ‘I love you’ before Eggsy hits send. The accompanying whoosh assures him that the text has been sent into the vast sea of technology and will arrive in Merlin’s inbox within seconds. “Okay,” he says as he motions a waiter for the check. “What shall we do now, Ms. Morton?”

They end up seeing a showing of the latest _Star Wars_ film. The cinema is fairly dead for a Saturday, which suits the pair of friends just fine. Armed with some popcorn and sweets, Eggsy and Roxy find themselves seats in the center of the theater to get lost in the space opera. As with the other times they’ve seen it, the film is still enjoyable.

As they leave for the tubes, Eggsy reaches into his pocket for his mobile while Roxy chatters on about the idea of a female Jedi. He notices several missed calls; three from an unfamiliar number and two from Percival. “It seems my mobile’s been ringin’ off the hook,” he comments as he’s about to listen to his voicemails.

The device begins to chime and the same unknown caller appears on the screen. Wondering if Jamal has lost his mobile _again_ , Eggsy takes the call while Roxy reaches into her purse. “Yeah?”

“Is this Gary Unwin?” asks a man’s authoritative voice. Definitely not a crook or someone looking to settle a score; copper most likely.

He thinks of what his mates could have gotten themselves into and groans. “If this is ‘bout Jamal and Ryan, I ain’t bailin’ ‘em out,” he tells the caller. “In fact, let those berks rot overnight and teach ‘em a lesson—”

“Actually, I’m calling about Hamish Greaves,” the man interrupts, immediately causing Eggsy’s heart to bolt into his throat. “He has you listed as his emergency contact.”

He swallows. “That’s my boyfriend,” Eggsy says. “Who are you?”

“My name is Inspector Locke with the Fulham Police Station, Mr. Unwin,” he begins to explain.

“Where is he?” Eggsy demands. “Where is my boyfriend? Is he alright?”

The inspector is a patient fellow and doesn’t say anything about Eggsy’s increasingly shrill tone. “Mr. Greaves was involved in an accident and has been transported to St. Mary’s,” Locke tells him.

“An accident?” Eggsy echoes, feeling as if the world is crashing down upon him. _Again_. He stumbles towards a wall to lean against it. “What sort of accident? Is he hurt? Can I speak to him?”

“Eggsy,” Roxy calls, sounding frightened. She is hanging up her mobile when he looks up at her. “My brother just called me and said that Merlin’s been in an accident; a policeman phoned the shop looking for you!”

He nods, confirming the news. “Can I speak to him?” Eggsy asks the inspector.

“I think it would be best if you come down to the hospital.”

 

* * *

 

The taxi ride to St. Mary’s is a blur.

Eggsy vaguely recollects being hurried into the vehicle and escorted out by Roxy. He thinks of every scenario that would land Merlin in the hospital; everything from trying to rescue a kitten from a tree to singlehandedly stopping a terrorist cell crosses his mind.

Worst yet, it doesn’t stop, but only becomes more outlandish as Roxy drags him into the A&E. It’s not like the copper told him what happened - just that Merlin has been in an accident. The bastard is pretty tight-lipped on the subject matter and it dawns on Eggsy that not everyone is Harry Hart.

Harry who came to the Unwin flat two days before Christmas and told his mum that his father was dead while presenting her with a medallion.

 _What if_ , Eggsy begins to wonder and finds himself wanting to scream. What if Merlin is dead and the copper dragged him all the way down to the hospital to tell him? Eggsy shudders and tightens his grip on Roxy’s hand. “What if he’s dead, Rox?”

“He’s not dead,” she barks. There is a look of determination set in her eyes as she scans the hallways to find her wayward brother and fellow Kingsman, Percival. As it turns out, his designation is his real name, which Eggsy can’t decide is a good or bad thing. “You would have been asked to go to morgue instead of the A&E,” Roxy adds.

Eggsy can’t help but feel a wave of nausea building from the pit of his stomach. “Not helpin’.”

“Sorry,” Roxy apologizes as she tugs on his hand. “Percy!” she shouts, catching the attention of a tall, well-dressed man in his thirties.

Percival William Patrick Albert Morton waves at them as the crowd parts, revealing that he’s in the company of another man and a woman wearing scrubs. The former reminds Eggsy of the bloke from that television series with Benedict Cumberbatch and the whiny guy in _Hitchhiker’s Guide_. Except he’s far more serious looking and unlikely to rely on a psychopath to solve crimes. Locke is a nice enough chap as he reintroduces himself with a firm handshake. It’s strange to be on the right side of the law, something Eggsy doesn’t have a lot of experience with.

The woman, who turns out to be the A&E doctor, is about his mum’s age. “We can go somewhere quiet to talk,” she says kindly.

“I’m good here, thanks,” Eggsy tells her, trying to keep his revolting stomach contents at bay.

“You look like you might be ill, Mr. Unwin,” she comments.

He scowls at her. “Well, wouldn’t you look the same if some bloke called you and said your boyfriend is in the A&E?” Eggsy snaps. “I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive, yeah? This ain’t the fuckin’ movies!”

Roxy hisses at his given name in warning and tightens her grip on his hand.

“Your boyfriend is alive,” Inspector Locke interjects. He holds up a hand to the doctor. “I should have told you before you came; my apologies.”

Eggsy feels like he might be able to breathe if it wasn’t the bone-crushing fear tangled inside of him. He hears Roxy and Percival exclaim their relief with sighs.

“What happened to him?” Percival asks.

“Mr. Greaves was broadsided outside of Brompton Cemetery,” the inspector explains, each word making Eggsy want to have the ground open up and swallow him whole. “The other driver ran through the stop and collided with the drivers’ side.”

Eggsy’s eyes begin to burn. “Where?” he croaks. He clears his throat. “Where is he? Where is my boyfriend? Can I see ‘im?”

The doctor steps in. “Mr. Greaves is currently upstairs in the surgery ward.”

“Surgery…” Eggsy can’t even finish the rest of his sentence. His world which is not that big to start with begins to slowly crumble down or explode, depending on how one looks at it. Only hours ago, he was having a late breakfast with Merlin and being kissed senseless. The ghostly sensation of his boyfriend’s stubble tickles his fingertips, reminding Eggsy that he just left the flat.

“His injuries are quite serious, but he will make a full recovery,” the doctor continues after a moment. It’s not enough of an answer and he suspects that the A&E doctor isn’t allowed to tell him much else, just in case…

Eggsy feels a sob building. “When can I see ‘im?” he asks slowly, trying to keep himself together.

“Not for several hours,” the doctor tells him.

His shoulders deflate with all the tension built over from the moment he received the call. “Can I stay with ‘im? Once he’s out of surgery, can I stay in the room with ‘im?” Eggsy doesn’t care about how desperate and needy he sounds or if he comes off as a pathetic wanker. He wants to be the first thing Merlin sees when he wakes up and his apologies the first words his boyfriend listens to.

“Of course,” the doctor assures, offering a kind smile. “I will let the ward know. Perhaps you could have your friends pick up some of Mr. Greaves and your things while you wait.”

He feels numb as he nods. “Yeah,” Eggsy murmurs. “Course.” Disbelief floats at the fringes of his emotions; all Eggsy can think about is how he just saw Merlin.

 _How quickly things can change_ , he muses. Harry’s face briefly flashes behind his closed eyes.

“Perhaps we should have a seat,” Roxy suggests once the doctor and Locke have made themselves scarce. She is reaching for him, undoubtedly with the intentions of leading him towards a row of uncomfortable looking plastic chairs.

Eggsy shakes her off. “Nah, I’m gonna head over to Merlin’s,” he tells her and Percival once he’s cleared his throat. “Get some of his things and all that.”

“Eggsy,” Percival begins to say.

He forces a smile. “I’m fine, yeah?”

“I can go over…” Roxy offers.

“Guys, m’fine!” Eggsy palms his face, trying to keep his frustration in check because the fuck he won’t be lashing out at his friends. “Just…call me if anythin’ changes. I’ll be one, two hours max, alright?” He doesn’t wait for their replies or turn when there’s a chorus of two Mortons shouting his name down the A&E corridor.

Nah, Eggsy just hails the nearest taxi and gives the chap his home address.

 

* * *

 

He hears JB’s nails tapping upon the floors when he opens the front door.

As he usually does, the pug rushes to greet Eggsy with a series of happy twirls and chuffs. “Heya boy,” he says as he kneels down to pick up the bundle of tawny fur. JB is warm in his arms and against his neck where he rests his head. “Happy to see me?”

JB licks him in reply, causing Eggsy to laugh while he pets him. He carries the pug towards his bedroom, where he sets JB down on the mattress. Eggsy gets lost in rubbing his dog’s belly and mindlessly baby talking to him, chuckling when JB’s tongue lolls out his mouth.

“Is that you, Eggsy?” his mum shouts from down the hallway. Michelle Unwin appears moments later with a basket of folded laundry nestled against her hip. “Hey, wasn’t expecting you for a bit.”

Eggsy offers a shrug. “Was just comin’ to get a few things is all,” he tells her. “Where’s Daisy?”

“She has a play date with one of her nursery school mates,” Michelle replies. She sets the basket down by the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have time for a cuppa?”

“Not really,” Eggsy says apologetically. “Have to make a stop before I go back…”

 _To Merlin_ is left unsaid; he hasn’t told his mum about his relationship. It’s not that she would have a problem with it. Michelle has always been nothing but supportive of Eggsy’s inclinations towards both sexes but the age difference may be difficult to swallow. His boyfriend is older than his own mum and it’s only several years, but then again, who the fuck is he joking? His mum is barely in her forties, while Merlin is pushing fifty. Eggsy can already hear her questions and accusations of this man’s character, dating a man who’s half his age.

“Babe,” she calls, stepping closer to him until Michelle is centimeters away. “Are you alright?”

Eggsy realizes after the fact that his eyes are watery and threatening to spill over. He quickly sniffles and wipes at his face. “I’m fine,” he lies. “Just got somethin’ in my eye.”

“Gary,” Michelle states, sternness creeping into her voice. “Look at me.”

“ _Mum_ ,” he whines. His words break towards the end and leave his vulnerability bare to the world.

Or in this case, his mum. It’s been ages since they’ve had some mother-son bonding and he’s gotten used to dealing with his problems on his own. She was too busy with Dean and later Daisy. By then, Eggsy was off getting into all sorts of trouble.

Eggsy glances at her, only to quickly look away. She has that motherly sympathy written all over her face; the kind he remembers from being a child or when Daisy falls down and scrapes her knee. The kind of thing where Eggsy finds his girls in the loo while his mum patches his little sister up, speaking softly and encouragingly until Daisy’s laughter fills the house.

And he can’t fucking deal. He doesn’t want sympathy because he doesn’t deserve it; Merlin is the one who’s broken and in the hospital while Eggsy has run away like the twat he is.

“Oh babe,” Michelle tuts worriedly as she reaches for him. She pulls him into a warm embrace, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and hands rubbing his back.

Absently Eggsy realizes he’s sobbing—the kind of gut-wrenching, body shaking sobs that will leave him drained and exhausted. Where he’ll need to lie down for a while with a cuppa as his mum strokes his hair and hums a nursery rhyme. If he’s really unlucky, Eggsy will end up with a headache pounding at his skull and mucus all over his face. He hasn’t cried like this since…

…Harry.

“Mum,” he chokes into her hair, “somethin’ really fucked up happened.”

She nods, giving Eggsy a squeeze. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Once Michelle has patted his face with a damp cloth, wiping away tears and snot, Eggsy tells her about Merlin. “My…boyfriend and I got into it this mornin’,” he admits over a cuppa, sheepishly peering over at her. “It was stupid, really; both of us were bein’ stubborn berks.” Eggsy gives pause and swallows.

Michelle pushes a lock of hair from his face, chuckling softly. “Everyone is entitled to being stubborn,” she assures. “Did this chap of yours dump you?”

“No!” Eggsy exclaims, shocked that she would even suggest a thing. “God no! Mer- _Hamish_ wouldn’t chuck me over one argument.” He closes his eyes. “That’s his name, by the way. Hamish.”

When he opens his lids, his mum is smiling. “It’s a lovely name,” Michelle tells him. “Did you meet him through your job?”

He nods, noting the convenience of how he and Merlin met. There’s no elaborate lie or ridiculous story he has to embellish to make the start of their relationship sound normal. “Swept me off my feet, he did,” Eggsy says, smiling into his cup of tea. “He’s a nice bloke; smart as fuck and funny, too.”

And kind, generous, witty, fit…Eggsy can go on moony tangents about Merlin; there are so many wonderful things he’s able to name. The sound of his brogue, whether it be in person or through his glasses, has the ability to calm or turn his knees to jelly. He loves every bit of Merlin—the good, the bad, and the ugly. To think that he’s lying in a surgical theater while Eggsy is having tea with his mum, well…it brings more tears to his eyes.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Michelle sighs, pulling him to her. “What happened, babe?”

“He’s been in an accident,” Eggsy cries. “Some wanker run a stop and drove straight…drove straight into ‘im.” His chest heaves with every word, loosening his grief until it’s pouring down his cheeks. “A copper called me, told me what happened. He’s at St. Mary’s gettin’ operated on while I’m here…”

Michelle holds him tighter, hushing him as she pets his hair. “Babe,” she whispers.

“I couldn’t be there,” he explains. “Mum, I couldn’t…I had to leave…”

Her lips brush against his temple. “I know,” she tells him, rocking them to and fro while he sobs. How long they stay like this, Eggsy cannot say. All he knows is that his body aches and his eyes burn; honestly, they’re probably bloodshot by now. JB has joined them, bringing a rawhide with him and makes himself comfortable underneath the kitchen table, chewing away.

His mobile goes off, chiming from its’ place on the table. Eggsy reaches for it and finds a text from Roxy telling him that Merlin’s out of surgery. “They’ve moved ‘im to the recovery ward,” he mumbles. He goes to wipe his nose upon his sleeve. “Fuck me, I really need to get back and I haven’t even gone to his flat!”

“Gary love,” his mum says, touching his forearm. She has that look about her, the kind in which she’s going to take charge. “Breathe.” When her son deflates, Michelle smiles and ruffles his hair. “Okay, let’s get a bag ready for you and I’ll take you over to his flat.”

Eggsy shakes his head. “What about Daisy?”

“Let me handle it, okay?” Michelle replies. “Go get your things.”

 

* * *

 

Eggsy learns that his mum called the parent of Daisy’s playmate and told them that she would be running late because of an emergency.

“Ted is very sweet,” Michelle comments as she drives them back to St. Mary’s. “Said it was no trouble and that Daisy could have dinner with him and Susan. He also sends his well-wishes.”

He is looking out the window, nodding absently. “Tell him thank you, yeah?”

“Of course I will,” his mum assures.

She had come up to Merlin’s flat with him, offering her assistance and, mostly, support while Eggsy gathered up his boyfriend’s things. If she had seen any photographs that indicated his boyfriend’s age, Michelle hasn’t been obvious about it. Or said anything for that matter.

“Babe, he will be alright,” she assures. “Your Hamish,” she adds when Eggsy glances at her.

He gives her a wan smile in reply. “I just need to see ‘im, is all.”

Her cool hand touches his and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Of course,” Michelle tells him.

The rest of the drive to St. Mary’s is silent. He’s been gone from the hospital for a little over two hours, though it feels like a lifetime has passed. Michelle pulls the car up to the curb and sets it in park while weary exhaustion seeps into Eggsy’s bones.

“Do you want me to come up with you?” she asks.

“Nah,” Eggsy replies while he unbuckles his seatbelt. Once freed, he leans over and hugs his mum, resting his chin on her collarbone. “I love you, mum.”

Michelle returns the embrace. “Oh, and I love you, my little egg,” she sing-songs. Pulling back, she takes his face in her hands. “Now, you call me if you need anything. Anytime, love. I’ll be right here, yeah?”

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll text you an update.”

“Good,” she states, wrinkling her nose. “I would hate to have to bother Roxy.”

Eggsy scoffs. “Please, mum! You two get on like a house on fire!”

With another hug and a kiss on his mum’s cheek, Eggsy makes his way back inside of the hospital, feeling a bit calmer than before. Like he can face what’s behind the doors of the Intensive Care ward, where Merlin is being held overnight according to Roxy’s text messages. As Eggsy takes the lifts upstairs, he quietly prepares himself for the worst; a car accident ain’t nothing to joke about. He reckons so long as Merlin’s eyeballs aren’t hanging out of his skull, he can deal.

 _I’d do anythin’ for you_ , he thinks as the lift doors slide open, revealing the very clinical Intensive Care ward. That awful sickly-sweet smell floods his nostrils. Antiseptic cuts underneath it all, reminding Eggsy of all the times he woke up in medical following whatever he got himself into. With Merlin sitting by his bedside, of course, looking relieved and lovely.

“Eggsy!” Roxy calls from the waiting area. She is out of her seat like a shot and wrapping her arms around his middle. She doesn’t say anything about his appearance—because, shit on a stick, he knows he looks bloody awful—and leads him over to Percival, who is speaking with a nurse. “What did she say?”

The elder Morton shrugs as the stranger darts off. “She’s going to fetch the surgeon,” he replies. He removes his glasses—actual glasses, not the Kingsman make—and gives Eggsy a once-over. “You look like shit.”

“Percy!” Roxy snaps, smacking him upon the arm.

Before an argument can erupt, the surgeon comes out. She is a woman in her fifties with her dark hair tucked into a bun, showing off her glowing dark skin. Upon the lapel of her white coat is a name tag that reads _Doctor Neela Patel_. “Mr. Unwin?” she asks as she approaches. When Eggsy nods, a warm smile breaks out on her face and reminds him of his mum. “I am Doctor Patel, the lead surgeon on your partner’s case.”

“Call me Eggsy,” he says, extending a trembling hand. “Feel like people are talkin’ to my dad.”

She takes it, shaking it gently. “Noted,” Dr. Patel says. “Let’s have a seat so I can explain the extent of Mr. Greaves’ injuries.”

“The doctor downstairs wasn’t able to tell us much,” Eggsy whispers as soon as his bum touches the couch in the waiting area. He stops, unable to continue.

Dr. Patel nods. “Yes, and I apologize; I understand how disconcerting this must be with not being able to know what’s happening,” she replies kindly. “The injuries were serious, but repairable with surgery. Your partner sustained a collapsed lung from a rib fracture, several lacerations, a concussion, and bone breaks in the tibia and fibula.”

“Fuck me,” Eggsy moans, reaching for Roxy’s hand and holding onto it for dear life.

He expects a look of disapproval from the surgeon, but no such thing comes. Instead, she looks sympathetic, if not unsurprised by his reaction. “A chest tube has been inserted to drain excess air from his lung and given the circumstances, I am quite pleased with Mr. Greaves’ progress. He was fighting the tubes in the recovery ward, so we switched him over to an oxygen mask.”

“Is he awake?” Roxy asks.

Dr. Patel shakes her head. “I wouldn’t expect him to fully regain consciousness for the next twenty-four hours,” she answers. “While you’re with him, Eggsy, he may wake up briefly, but I doubt he’ll remember it later on.”

“You’d be surprised,” he tells her. “He’s a stubborn bastard, that one.”

The surgeon laughs. “Well, that is a good thing to be,” she says before continuing on with Merlin’s prognosis.

All in all, the Scotsman is a lucky bastard and is expected to make a full recovery with some physio for his leg.

As she and Eggsy walk towards his private hospital room, Dr. Patel details to him of what Merlin will look like. It ain’t a pretty picture. She speaks of the drainage tube that will be coming out of his boyfriend’s left side, covered with gauze and bandages while the device does its work, and the stylish socks on Merlin’s feet to prevent blood clots.

“We inserted titanium rods into your partner’s leg to stabilize the breaks,” Dr. Patel continues. They stop outside of a closed door. “As you can expect, his leg will be in traction.”

Eggsy swallows, nodding. “What ‘bout the rest of ‘im? Bruised and banged up, yeah?”

“Yes,” she says, reaching for the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

He shifts the duffle bag against his body and shakes his head. “Not really,” he admits. “But may as well pull the bandage off, right?”

“Mr. Unwin,” Dr. Patel begins to say, “If you should feel faint, let me know. These things are difficult and it’s alright to be scared.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy replies. “Sure. Will do.”

With a smile, she opens the door and the sound of medical equipment meets Eggsy’s ears. Other than that, the room is fairly quiet and sedate. He pokes his head inside and releases a startled gasp, nearly dropping the bag onto the floor. “Holy shit,” he breathes, slowly walking into the room.

Merlin is, well…he’s certainly fucked up.

There ain’t anything pleasing about the picture in front of Eggsy, from the assortment of tubes coming out of his body— _especially_ the one fitted between two ribs—to the plane of crisscrossed cuts littering Merlin’s face and right down his arm. There’s a particularly nasty one over the bridge of his nose that’s been stitched up and covered with a white bandage. Eggsy doesn’t even want to get to thinking about his boyfriend’s broken leg or the translucent mask covering most of his face. 

Without asking or thinking, he sets the bag down on a chair and hurries to Merlin’s less injured side. There, Eggsy takes the older man’s hand between his own and runs his lips over still fingertips. He’s never seen Merlin look so pale and motionless; even when Merlin sleeping there is movement and sound. A grunt here, a twitch there.

He is grateful for the chair next to Merlin’s bedside, using it to collapse into. Eggsy presses his boyfriend’s hand to his cheek and turns to kiss his palm. He tastes the same, he thinks idly as the salt from Merlin’s skin brushes against his tongue. Why he would assume something like that would change is beyond Eggsy.

All he wants to do is crawl into bed alongside him; what they do back at his boyfriend’s flat which is quickly becoming theirs. Eggsy wants to lie next to him and run his fingers over Merlin’s stubble. To rest his head upon his lover’s shoulder and talk of inconsequential things. To watch telly and have a cuddle as if nothing extraordinary happened today.

He can’t do any of these things for Merlin looks so small and fragile upon the hospital bed. For a man so tall and long, injury has shrunken him as it does to everyone. To Harry who couldn’t defeat death a second time in the end or the time Roxy broke her arm on an assignment.

In world where foes run rampant, it’s a fucking car accident that takes out Merlin and the irony does not fail to fall upon Eggsy.

He touches the stubble leading from Merlin’s jaw to where hair still grows on his head. “Hey babe,” Eggsy whispers, not giving a shit if he’s starting to cry in front of a perfect stranger. “I’m right here if you need anythin’ and I ain’t leavin’ ‘til I see those pretty hazel eyes of yours, you feel me? I ain’t leavin’ you again.”


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness comes in disjointed flashes; at least, that’s the way Merlin sees it.

Merlin never stays awake long enough; he’s so tired, always so fucking tired that the act of opening his lids is akin to pushing a boulder uphill. From the bits he’s able to snatch, he hears medical equipment humming and beeping, sounding as if it’s coming from kilometers away. Sometimes a nurse or doctor is by his side, speaking amongst themselves while darkness crawls from the edges of his vision before it swallows it whole. He realizes that he’s been in an accident of sorts and it wasn’t on Kingsman grounds. No, he’s in a civilian hospital like any other chap and Eggsy is there with him. 

 _Eggsy_ , he always thinks when he’s able to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend’s worried face. The creases upon his forehead show his concern and agony of whatever’s happened to Merlin. And his eyes; Christ almighty, his lovely green eyes—they’re so exhausted.

There are moments where he can hear Eggsy’s voice cutting through the darkness. The lad’s presence is always there, a steadfast beacon of someone waiting for Merlin when his body decides to fight the tug of sleep.

Rest; it’s the human form’s natural reaction to healing and grates on Merlin’s nerves. He isn’t a man of patience, though he’s been able to temper his hot-headed streak as the years pass.

He wants to wake up and apologize to Eggsy, to take back all the stupid words he said, and to spend the day tangled up in bed linens and his lover’s limbs. The void of not having the feel of the lad’s skin under his fingertips and tongue while he explores Eggsy’s body, or not hearing his lover’s breathy moans or watching him draw breath—Merlin misses it.

He misses it so much that it makes his chest ache and his body fall deeper into the folds of exhaustion.

At least Eggsy is patient, far more than he.

 

* * *

 

Waking up to more rain and in a room that’s not his own is top of Merlin’s list of disconcerting things.

He blinks several times, doing away with the gritty film that’s made a temporary home on his eyelids. Blinking is a generous term; his eye movements are more of a slow roll as each one feels as if they are bogged down by weights. Merlin grunts in frustration, cursing his rotten luck for finding himself in whatever predicament he’s found himself in.

Because whatever the fuck is going on, it doesn’t sit well with him or his nostrils. The smell of antiseptic is strong and nauseating. It gives Merlin a clue, however, as to where he is. He manages to open his eyes this time around and is surprised to find a hospital room. Civilian, of course, because the walls are lacking the distinctive subterranean decor of the Kingsman facilities.

Using his reclined position to his advantage, Merlin surveys his strange surroundings and injuries, as it would be. Much to his dismay, his right leg is held in traction, protected by a long leg cast comprised of fiberglass and dark blue gauze that begins at mid-thigh and ends at his toes, leaving them uncovered. Merlin squints, thinking it’s not a color he would have chosen had he gotten a say in such things. Thankfully, it’s not of the neon spectrum and doesn’t have any Sharpie drawings of cocks, at least where Merlin can see them. Traveling upward, he notices that his chest is bare from the waist up with discoloration spreading from underneath a series of bandages fastened to his ribs. _Chest tube_ , Merlin thinks sedately, which he is certain has been removed. 

And thank God for that; he has no desire to come to with plastic protruding from his body. 

So, he hasn’t been kidnapped. That’s refreshing but doesn’t explain how he ended up here. Raising a hand to scratch his chin, Merlin finds his fingers brushing against a fair amount of facial hair. Several days old by the feel of it, no more than a week.

Merlin racks his brain, trying to remember the series of events that has brought him to a hospital. The very last thing he can recall is leaving to go to the cemetery and the sting of the row he had with Eggsy.

_Eggsy._

Muted panic surges in his chest while Merlin wonders where his boyfriend is before he finds the lad fast asleep in an armchair that’s been set up by his bedside. Eggsy has his head propped up on the cushioned back and his balled-up fist; the position Eggsy has contorted himself into looks rather uncomfortable and Merlin is glad to be in a bed.

Even if it’s not one with his pillow top mattress and three hundred thread count sheets. One cannot be picky.

He allows himself the pleasure of gazing upon Eggsy’s face, noting the bone weariness that’s settled into his features. Something spectacularly awful must have happened between the cemetery and here, as the lad looks like he’s aged overnight. If the bags shadowing his under eyes are any indication, Eggsy has gone with little sleep, if any at all.

“Mr. Greaves,” a man calls, which is followed by the squeak of sneakers on linoleum floors. A nurse, no older than Eggsy, appears by his leg. “You’re awake,” he says quietly.

Merlin nods. “It seems I am,” he replies, feeling contempt for the wilted way his voice sounds. “Water?”

“Of course,” the nurse assures. Moments later, he presents Merlin with a paper cup and straw, which he presses against his mouth.

It’s a bit on the warm side, which makes sense. Ice-cold water would certainly not do him any favors. “What happened?” Merlin asks once he’s had his fill.

“You were in a car accident,” the nurse tells him as he sets a plastic device down. He begins to check Merlin’s vital signs. “I’ve paged Dr. Patel; she’ll be able to tell you more. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Merlin nods, shutting his eyes. “Perhaps a few more blankets,” he comments. “It’s a bit drafty in here.”

“I can do better,” the nurse says with a dimpled smile. “Just a tick!”

The nurse brings him a fashionable hospital gown that leaves one's arse out in the open if not tied correctly and a stack of warm blankets. The lad, who introduces himself as Seth, is a natural at his occupation and makes the process of slipping the gown on as painless as possible. He doesn’t engage in idle chit-chat or treats Merlin like he’s invalid, plus he warns him not to look down. “I reckon you don’t fancy seeing a catheter where it doesn’t belong,” Seth tells Merlin.

“Not particularly,” he agrees, keeping his eyes on Eggsy instead. It’s bothersome that his boyfriend isn’t even twitching at the new sounds in the room. They aren’t being that quiet when everything’s said and done; for Eggsy to sleep through it tells Merlin all he needs to know.

“Mr. Greaves,” a woman says, coming into the hospital room. “It’s a pleasure seeing you awake.”

He turns, finding himself staring at a woman of South Asian descent with tidy black hair and a white coat on. She offers Merlin a smile as she comes up to his bed. Seth relays the latest readings to her while she takes a look for herself.

“What happened?” Merlin asks, watching as the nurse leaves the room. “That young man said I was in a car accident.”

Dr. Patel nods. “You were broadsided by a driver who ran through their stop,” she explains, pulling an iPad from her coat. She taps on the screen.

“Oh,” he says, stunned. “How long have I’ve been here exactly?”

She looks up from the device, its light illuminating her face. “Two and a half days, most of which you’ve been in and out of consciousness for. The medics brought you in with a collapsed lung, a rib fracture, concussion, and lacerations.” The doctor gestures to his leg. “And broken tibia and fibula.”

“That explains the stylish cast you’ve got me in,” Merlin comments, trying to make light of the situation. Nearly three days gone with no memory of how or why it happened.

The doctor grins. “A souvenir,” she jokes. “Retrograde amnesia is fairly typical of those who have suffered a head injury. I will need to ask you some questions to determine the severity of it.”

It’s the usual set of the questions—who’s the prime minister? Who won the World Cup? What is two plus two?

Merlin answers them dutifully and correctly, much to his and the doctor’s mutual relief. His emotions are muted as what little energy he has is beginning to falter. Merlin expects this—it’s logical after the beating his body took—along with the dull throb spreading through his leg. For the half hour that he’s been awake, Merlin decides he loathes being injured. He looks to Eggsy and feels a pang of guilt for all he’s put the lad through. Especially with the way they left things, completely unresolved and seething with anger.

The way Harry left for Kentucky.

Merlin sighs, remembering how he walked his oldest friend to one of Kingsman’s jets and noticed Harry’s less than jovial mood. He owned it up to Eggsy’s failure on the last task—which he personally always thought was barbaric—and gave the other man a playful nudge. “We’ll find a place for him,” Merlin assured, offering Harry a grin.

“It’s not that,” Harry told him. He pressed his lips tighter, puckering them so that they disappeared into a thin, white line. Harry was on the verge of saying something but decided to forgo it with a shake of his head. “I said terrible…horrible things I didn’t mean. I must apologize when I return.”

Harry boarded the jet and vanished from Merlin’s life; gone on the red tides of death and chaos, gone forever and never to return.

“He hasn’t left your bedside since we brought you out of surgery,” Dr. Patel tells him, having noticed her patient’s fond expression.

He swallows back a wince as the throbbing in his leg grows stronger. “Perhaps some pain medication wouldn’t go amiss?” Merlin inquires.

The medical staff is quick to retrieve his request, for which he’s forever grateful. “This will make you drowsy,” Dr. Patel warns as she plunges the needle into Merlin’s IV port.

“Sleep promotes healing, doesn’t it?” he jokes, earning a smile from his doctor.

It is difficult to ignore the cold rush filling his arm and moving to other extremities. Merlin could do without the bitter taste in his mouth, the side effects of Morphine, but he counts his blessings. For all the times he’s seen his boyfriend and fellow agents in the medical unit, he has been safely ensconced in his lair.

Merlin seeks out Eggsy’s hand lying upon the mattress, noticing how his fingers curl as if the lad is reaching for him. As the pull of sleep becomes too strong to resist, he laces his fingers between his boyfriend’s and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“You’re a right wanker, you know that?” Eggsy tells him the moment Merlin wakes again.

It’s clearly daytime, though the rain clouds blot out the sun as they’ve done since Saturday. Merlin turns his head, following the sound of his lover’s tense voice and finds himself staring into two watery green pools.

“Fuckin’ off like that and gettin’ yourself into a proper mess before we can resolve things,” Eggsy continues. His lips go thin as he tries to keep his emotions in check. It’s a difficult thing for someone like the lad, as he wears his heart upon his sleeve, making it easy for Merlin to read him as tears roll down one of his cheeks. A trembling hand is quick to wipe them away, followed by forced laughter. “And not even a _good_ one; a fuckin’ car accident like we’re Mr. Smith down the street! Don’t you know we’re super spies?”

Merlin gently chuckles. His middle is a bit tender and any movement seems to shoot down into his gut. “I’ll have you know that Mr. Smith was a paratrooper with the First Airborne Division,” he replies.

“Durin’ the Second World War?” Eggsy questions, dubiously. “Fancy that; a badass _and_ he’s immortal!”

He nods in agreement. “Hm,” he mumbles. His bottom lip stings, probably from a cut or something to that effect. Funny how Merlin hadn’t noticed before. “Quite an accomplishment.”

“We ought to submit ‘im for candidacy, don’t you think?” Eggsy teases.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’d prefer not. We _are_ a super spy organization and Mr. Smith can’t keep a secret worth a damn.” He repositions his head upon the pillow, offering Eggsy a tired grin. “You look like you could use a proper bed and a lie-in.”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Merlin,” Eggsy whispers, his voice cracking upon speaking the older man’s name. The last of the lad’s composure breaks as more tears gather at his waterline and spill over. He bows his head, pressing his forehead onto the mattress while his shoulders shake with each sob.

“Eggsy,” Merlin intones, reaching to run his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair before touching the nape of his neck. His skin is warm and soft as always. “Look at me, love.”

He does with a red face and contorted features revealing the depths of Eggsy’s feelings. “You could have _died_ …and I would have never…” The lad sniffles, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “You could have been killed!”

“Aye, but I wasn’t,” the older man reminds him. He cups Eggsy’s cheek, running his thumb over a swollen tear to wipe it away. “It’s going to take more than a shit driver to get rid of me.”

Darkness clouds the lad’s features, reaching into the depths of his eyes and turning them in the color of the sky during a hurricane. “Bet that’s what Harry thought when he left,” Eggsy snarls as he jerks himself out of Merlin’s reach. “I’ve got all the time in the world, yeah? Just need to pop over to bum fuck Kentucky to take care of some things.”

Eggsy’s quick to his feet and begins pacing the hospital room. “He told me to stay in his house and he would sort everythin’ out when he got back,” Eggsy continues, balling his fists at his sides.

“ _A ghràidh_ ,” Merlin starts to say.

“He _never_ came back!” the lad shrieks, rushing to the bed. He gripes the railings like a life raft as his body heaves through his cries. “Harry never came back! He never fuckin’ came back, Merlin! I’ll never know if he really meant everythin’ he said when we’s was fightin’ in the loo! If I was a disappointment to ‘im!”

Eggsy is nearly in hysterics when he collapses in the chair beside Merlin and buries his face in the blankets next to Merlin’s thigh. The sobs wrenched from Eggsy’s throat shake the bed frame and allow a piece of memory to fall into place.

 _So that’s what Harry meant_ , Merlin thinks, dumbstruck.

His friend, for his social graces and etiquette, was a right bastard when angry. Quick to go for the proverbial—or in some cases, _literal_ —jugular and strike without much thought, Harry Hart always put his foot in his mouth. Merlin can’t recall how many times they argued during the course of their relationship and how often Harry would apologize for being untoward. But for him to lash out at Eggsy and leave in such a manner…it all makes sense of his boyfriend’s behavior over the past year. The refusal to speak of their deceased friend and how quickly he changed the subject if Harry was brought up. That look of utter heartbreak when someone said how proud his predecessor would be.

Merlin goes to pet the back of Eggsy’s head, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. He listens to the remnants of his lover’s pent-up grief and all its bitterness. A year it’s taken for the lad to break in order not to sully Harry’s legacy; lesser men would have done it sooner and more publicly. Eggsy has always been far more respectful than that and would rather carry on as if nothing was wrong than betray his mentor’s memory to Merlin.

“Eggsy,” he intones, nudging his boyfriend’s cheek. “ _A ghràidh_ , look at me.”

With some coaxing, Merlin’s gaze is met by a pair of glassy moss-colored eyes peering at him from over a bicep. Eggsy looks so terribly young like this—even after all he’s been through in his short life—and it tugs at Merlin’s heartstrings.

“Come up here,” he says, patting the mattress. Merlin gives Eggsy a meaningful look, silently beckoning the lad to join him on the bed.

So what if Merlin hasn’t showered since Saturday and can hardly move without meddlesome sparks of pain radiating from his middle and leg?

All he wants is to have Eggsy in his arms, which the medical staff may disagree with, but Merlin doesn’t give two shits about what they think. He understands their best intentions, though he would rather offer some comfort and feel the lad’s weight against his body. To be able to stroke his thumb over his boyfriend’s shoulder, worrying the joint as they lie in silence.

Eggsy sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve once again before going to untie his trainers. He shucks them off and leaves them on his vacated seat, neatly lined up with the laces tucked inside. The lad doesn’t question Merlin’s gentle request or offer up an uncertain expression. Instead, he sheepishly climbs onto the mattress while taking great care in not jostling Merlin around, does so without comment. It's luck that Eggsy fits between the older man’s body and the hospital bed’s railing.

The wobbly sigh escaping through his lover’s mouth is not unexpected, nor is Eggsy seeking out his shoulder to rest his head upon. Merlin brushes fine strands of hair back and presses his lips to them, brushing against the edge of Eggsy’s temple.

“I sat there holdin’ your hand and listenin’ to the monitors,” Eggsy whispers while his fingers play with one of the ties of Merlin’s hospital gown. He adjusts his head so that it rests under the older man’s jaw. “You know, the one for your heart.”

Merlin nods in reply. “I know the one.”

“Just kept listenin’ to it and thinkin’ what if the next time it stops,” he says before his voice and composure breaks. Merlin feels each one of Eggsy’s sobs as they vibrate into his chest, the jagged and breathtaking whimpering that leaves Eggsy gasping for air. He’s pressing his face into the older man’s body, wetting his gown and huffing hot air onto his exposed skin. “I dreaded every second of it! I kept waitin’ for the beepin’ to stop and for me to lose you. I’d lose you like I lost him and I couldn’t…”

He wraps his arms around Eggsy, as much as Merlin is able, and cradles him. He’s held him countless times; post-coital when they’re both too tired to do anything but lie upon one another, before Eggsy leaves for a mission where he holds him tight and after when Merlin prolongs it to breathe his boyfriend in.

It’s never been as poignant as this.

“You will never lose me, a ghràidh,” Merlin tells him once Eggsy’s sobs have died down. He’s certain the lad is still awake enough to hear him despite how drained he must be. “No matter how much we argue, I will never stop loving you. Even when we drive each other absolutely mad, you are undoubtedly the best thing in my miserable life. I will never regret the moment I went to look for you on V-Day. Never.”

Eggsy nods against him, though he says nothing. It’s just as well, as there is nothing else left to say, in Merlin’s opinion.

He’s madly, utterly, and stupidly in love with the beautiful and maddening boy in his arms. The same boy who is just as in love with him.

And it suits Merlin just fine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to the usual suspects for being amazing and to Bre for being the best beta/enabler ever!

Nine days pass before Dr. Patel deems Merlin well enough to be discharged from the hospital and into Eggsy’s care.

His lover has become considerably grumpy by then, having quickly tired of being stuck in a hospital bed, let alone having his leg in traction. Merlin makes his complains quite vocal which range from how absurd Arthur is being by forcing him on mandatory medical leave (“My job involves my arse sitting in front of monitors!” he says at one point. “Not like I’m going to be leaping from tall buildings or engaging in a fist fight.”) to the lumpiness of the applesauce that Eggsy spoon-feeds him.

“My beard itches,” Merlin tells him as he scratches at the mostly-black facial hair that’s grown upon his face. The area by his chin is going grey while the rest has sprinkles here and there.

He leans forward and clasps the older man’s hand between his own, grinning. “I think you look rather dashin’,” Eggsy comments. It’s true; Merlin never allows himself to sport more than a five o’clock shadow and this change in appearance, while temporary, ain’t all that bad. “Lookin’ all rugged like one of ‘em swashbucklers.”

“I neither swash nor buckle,” Merlin replies, dourly.

“I’ll give it a trim when we get back to your flat, yeah?” Eggsy suggests.

Merlin pouts. “Yes, while I sit in the bath with a garbage bag on my leg. Just what I imagined,” he continues complaining as the frown lines on his face grow deeper. “How _sodding_ romantic.”

“First of all, it’s not a garbage bag, but a specialized seal or some crap,” Eggsy corrects, “and second, it _will_ be romantic because I’ll some candles and play Enya.”

This earns a glare. “If you play Enya, we are professionally done, Gary Unwin!”

“Do you know how cute you look when you’re all grumpy?” he continues to tease, nudging at Merlin’s bristly chin. Eggsy chuckles when his boyfriend grunts. “That frown of yours ain’t all that scary, babe. Especially with this beard you’ve got goin’; you look like a regular Paddington Bear, you do! All we need to get you is a raincoat and some wellies.”

Merlin doesn’t even bother to respond, though he does push the lad’s hand away from his face to hold it instead. Eggsy gives his fingers a gentle squeeze while a smile turns his lips upward, which the older man returns. He’s closed his eyes now; the lack of restful sleep is taking a toll on both men.

The effects are more apparent with Merlin for obvious reasons. Even though he’s wearing his own clothes instead of a hospital gown, Merlin is still rather pale where his skin isn’t cut up. Not that he was the tannest bloke on the world, but Merlin’s new hue is a bit…

Well, it’s certainly a bit.

Eggsy is determined to ensure Merlin gets the prescribed amount of rest and then some; it’s part of the reason why he’s cashing in his vacation days. Merlin will most definitely need help around his flat, whether he admits it or not, and with a bum leg, Merlin ain’t going to be doing much of anything.

He caresses his boyfriend’s head and rubs his happy spot, listening to the older man’s content hum. “Need anythin’, babe?” Eggsy asks.

“Just to get out of here,” Merlin confesses. He opens his eyes, grinning that special grin only reserved for him; the fond one that lights up his entire face. “And have a lie-in with you, of course.”

Wrinkling his nose, he nuzzles the tip against Merlin’s cheek while chuckling. “I believe we could arrange somethin’ to that effect,” Eggsy says over the sound of Dr. Patel knocking on the door frame.

The rest that follows is mundane and typical of medical personnel as she discusses post-hospital care and follow-up appointments. Eggsy can tell that Merlin is attempting to rush the process because, fuck, he wants to leave or he’ll go barking mad.

Once a nurse brings in a wheelchair (“It’s standard procedure, Mr. Greaves,” Merlin is told when he starts to complain) and a pair of crutches for Eggsy to manage, Roxy makes her appearance. Her car keys dangle from her fingertips as she stands in the doorway, watching while Merlin is moved from the bed to the wheelchair.

“Thank bloody Christ,” he murmurs when they leave the hospital. He drops the back of his head against the car seat, huffing out a sigh of relief. “I never want to see the inside of that place again!”

Roxy snorts. “You say that like it’s a prison.”

“Nearly,” Merlin replies.

Eggsy snickers from the back. “Oh, so next time I end up in medical and start bitchin’, you’ll be a bit more sympathetic, yeah?”

“Of course not!” Merlin exclaims, both brows knitted into a frown. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

 

* * *

 

So he doesn’t end up sitting in the bath with a garbage bag around his leg.

 _However_ , Merlin does sit upon the toilet lid with a towel draped over his chest while Eggsy trims his beard. He watches as Eggsy concentrates on his barber shop-grade clean up with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. The constant buzzing of clippers would annoy Merlin in any other circumstances, but right now it’s rather endearing.

“Where did Roxy pop off to?” he asks. He had been told that she would be spending the night at his flat in case Eggsy needed additional hands. “Is she tired of us already?”

Eggsy doesn’t blink. “Stop movin’,” he says, running the clippers near Merlin’s mouth. After a moment and less hair, Eggsy adds, “She went to the shops to pick up your medication and buy groceries.”

“Groceries?” Merlin questions, tilting his head.

Eggsy grunts, moving it back into place. “I said stop movin’. And yeah, groceries. Gotta fatten you up a bit, bruv. That shit they call food did you no favors.”

“No one expects hospital food to be edible,” he argues. “Unless if you’re speaking of our own medical ward.”

His boyfriend raises a brow in consideration. “Suppose you could if we wasn’t keepin’ it secret and all,” Eggsy replies. He huffs, turning Merlin this way and that. “And stay still you.”

“I _am_ perfectly still.”

“Your lips are movin’.”

Merlin glares at him. “Well, if you’d stop speaking to me, perhaps my lips would cease to move,” he retorts. “I don’t understand why you don’t just shave this dead animal off…”

“Hamish,” Eggsy says tensely, looking rather frustrated as he pulls back with the clippers in hand. It’s a rarity for the lad to call Merlin anything but that or occasionally ‘babe’; hearing it from anyone’s mouth brings him back to primary school. “Just…for fuck’s sake!” He takes a deep breath through flared nostrils and releases it through his mouth.

Stupidly, the older man thought the boy would have calmed once they left the hospital. The stress of Merlin’s aborted foray into the dangers of vehicular accidents still has Eggsy teetering on edge. For all they’ve been through, _that_ scares his boyfriend the most.

Merlin reaches for the lad, cupping his cheek into his palm and marveling at how perfectly this part of him fits into his hands. It’s always been like this—the small things Merlin discovers endlessly—and the way they never seem to cease.

“Please,” Eggsy whispers. He looks up at Merlin from beneath his lashes, eyes bright and lovely. “Just let me do this for you, yeah?”

He nods in reply and submits himself to Eggsy’s ministrations; it’s not a hardship, after all. Merlin continues to observe the lad who’s entirely focused on the outcome of his beard. He’s always been a clean-shaven bloke, save for the week when Percival and the former Lancelot went MIA during a mission in Paraguay, of all places.

The GPS on their glasses shorted due to the humidity and constant rain. So on top of two missing agents and a pissed off drug cartel, Chester was breathing down the tech department’s neck, barking orders and making absurd demands.

In the end and by some miracle, they came back with a pulse and Merlin had to sharpen his razor after taking it to his face.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” Eggsy asks him after a while. He’s finished one side of his face and is now inspecting the results of his handiwork.

“Paraguay,” Merlin answers.

Eggsy wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “Paraguay?” he parrots, flicking the clippers back on. Over the sound of buzzing, the lad says, “Why? You want to take a holiday or summat?”

“Goodness no!”

“I was gonna say; you don’t seem like the type to enjoy the tropics,” Eggsy comments.

Merlin chuckles. “I most definitely do not. I was just remembering the last time I had a beard. Lancelot and Percival had a mission that went tits up. It was an absolute disaster and, honestly, I’m surprised they didn't start World War Three. ”

“Oh, so, there was a brief moment when you were all dashin’ and hairy!” Eggsy teases.

He rolls his eyes. “Not exactly dashing, but hairy, yes. As soon as those tossers were back at HQ, I went home and shaved the bloody thing off!” Merlin laughs at the memory. “Harry said my trash bin looked like I maimed an animal.”

The sound of Eggsy’s barking laughter fills the bathroom and echoes off the tiles. “Maimed an animal,” he repeats, snorting. Wiping his eyes, he pats Merlin on the shoulder. “Bet you got some Viking in ya, babe. Brawny, you are!”

“Hardly,” the older man mutters. He is starting to feel a bit ridiculous with only one side of his face trimmed. “Do you mind finishing up now?”

“Alright,” Eggsy sighs, doing as he’s told.

Merlin can even ignore his snickering…

…however, he feels they need to talk about their argument, which is really about Harry and the way he left things with Eggsy. While most believe Merlin has the emotional range of an amoeba, he— _in fact_ —does not; he is just selective. Incredibly selective.

A Kingsman psychotherapist once told him that he was anti-social, which Merlin strongly disagreed with. He prefers a small group versus large crowds and machines to berks, but it doesn’t make him a shut-in. Besides, Merlin is a creature of habit and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that.

Not long after Eggsy has finished grooming him, Merlin lies in bed with the lad as they kind of watch something on the telly. He’s not paying much attention since the feeling of being back in his own surroundings overpowers whatever program is on. Merlin doesn’t complain about having to prop his leg up or that the Vicodin is making him drowsy; he’s out of the hospital and thank _fuck_ for that.

“I missed my bed,” he says with a deep sigh. Merlin turns to Eggsy, who is frowning at him. “What?”

“And you didn’t miss me?” The lad shakes his head mockingly. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

Merlin pulls Eggsy to his chest, ignoring Eggsy’s bitching and kisses the top of his head. “It so happens that I enjoy chopped liver,” he tells his boyfriend. “So the joke’s on you, _a ghràidh_.”

“Come off it!” Eggsy balks as he untangles himself from the older man’s grasp. He grabs his pillows, dragging them over so he and Merlin can relax closer together. “Sometimes I wonder ‘bout you,” he admits while getting settled. “Wonderin’ if you’s gone mad. Too much time in the basement.”

He offers a shrug. “Probably,” Merlin replies. “I’d like to ask you about something.” He can see the questioning, apprehensive expression forming on Eggsy’s face, turning his irises to a muted color. “About Harry…about what happened with you two before he left.”

“We didn’t fuck if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” the lad says.

Merlin blinks, absolutely stunned because the thought never even crossed his mind. “That wasn’t what I was inquiring about,” he replies slowly.

“Oh,” Eggsy mumbles. “What ‘bout ‘im, then?”

“How do I put this lightly?” Merlin questions, mostly to himself.

The lad snorts. “As if you’ve ever been diplomatic! Just get out with it.”

“I _can_ be diplomatic, you cheeky little shit,” Merlin retorts before shaking his head. “Never mind. Is the reason why you refuse to speak about Harry because of the argument you two had?”

Eggsy grows quiet and sinks into the pillows propping him up against the headboard. He begins to worry his bottom lip between his teeth, turning the pink skin a vivid shade of red. “What do you think?” he whispers.

“I _know_ what _I_ think,” Merlin counters. “But I want you to tell me without the fear of me getting…cross.”

“He was your best mate,” Eggsy says, refusing to look at him. “And he’s dead. Can’t go ‘round sayin’ ill ‘bout the dead, bruv. Bad manners and all.”

Merlin reaches for the lad’s chin, slowly turning his head until a pair of shiny green eyes reluctantly stare at him. “Harry was a good man. A brave man and a hero,” he replies, “but he was not infallible, Eggsy. For all of his wonderful qualities, he could be a right bastard.”

Eggsy’s eyes widen at this as if he’s shocked to hear anyone say something negative about his mentor and predecessor. Then again, Merlin isn’t surprised; since Harry’s death most people in the Kingsman organization have fallen into this state of hero worship of their fallen agent and he’s become larger than life.

A legend that used to roam the mansion’s hallways and corridors. The type of man who is immortalized by embellished stories that have removed his most human attributes.

And then there’s Eggsy; the new Galahad and Harry’s candidate. Eggsy who continues on in his mentor’s memory, forcing a smile whenever he’s mentioned and keeping the secret of their painful parting to himself. It’s a heavy burden to carry—having to swallow such hurtful words and regret—and pretend that everything was fine when Harry died.

Merlin sees how it weighs upon his boyfriend’s psyche and wants to do everything he can to help. Even if Eggsy spends the next few hours hurling insults at his best mate’s memory in order to feel better, then so be it.

“He said…” Eggsy begins before faltering. He blinks rapidly and swallows, trying to find his voice. “He said…I humiliated ‘im. Threw away my biggest opportunity over JB and for the record, I ain’t never goin’ to shoot my fuckin’ dog for you lot! Can go right to hell if someone even mentions it.” His cheeks redden with emotion and Eggsy falls silent, contemplating what to say next.

So Merlin waits while he runs his thumb over the curve of his boyfriend’s chin, admiring its shape and the way it pulls his entire face together. As if all Eggsy has been placed together to obliterate every last bit of his common sense.

“I told ‘im I was sorry,” the boy continues after a while. “Was gonna tell Harry I would do everythin’ to make it right, but he said ‘You should be. You just stay right there. I’ll sort this mess out when I get back.’” His eyes are wet, brimming at his waterline. “And that was it; he left.”

Eggsy closes his eyes, releasing a pair of tears. He wipes them away and sniffles while Merlin watches him. He wants to pull Eggsy to his chest and hold him there until the worst of his sadness has passed. Anything he can do to ease the lad’s conscience of divulging such a secret. Instead, Merlin touches his damp cheek and dabs at it with his shirt sleeve.

“You probably think I’m a proper wanker,” Eggsy whispers, still sniffling. “Still bein’ pissed at ‘im.”

Merlin cups his face while shaking his own head. “No, never,” he tells him. “What Harry did…it was cruel to say those things to you. He should have never done it, no matter how angry he was, he shouldn’t have said anything of that.”

“He was tellin’ the truth,” the lad mumbles, tearfully.

“That’s a festering pile of crap if I’ve ever heard it,” Merlin says, annoyed. “Before Harry left, he told me that he had said some terrible things, something he didn’t mean. I never knew what he was talking about.”

Eggsy’s eyes widen at this revelation. He looks as if a breeze could knock him off his feet.

“He wanted to apologize to you when he returned,” Merlin continues as he pulls Eggsy to him. “Harry was _always_ proud of you, _a ghràidh_. Even now, he would be so proud of you.” Merlin wraps Eggsy up in his arms and patiently waits for him to return the embrace. His movements are slow and filled with uncertainty, but eventually, Eggsy nestles his head under Merlin’s chin.

The moment—while profound in its own right—lacks an anguished sob or whatever dramatic programs on the telly show nowadays. It’s silent and thoughtful. There’s not uncomfortable air lingering about or a bittersweet suite playing quietly in the background. Or one of those kisses that turn into heated sex as there aren’t many positions that accommodate a broken leg.

No, it’s just Merlin and Eggsy as they always are—imperfect, ridiculous, and mad because it ain’t that kind of movie.

 

* * *

 

_Six Weeks Later_

Eggsy wishes Merlin had a bit more patience when it comes to being mobile.

“You are worse than Daisy, bruv!” he exclaims as he comes around the front of the rental to find his boyfriend struggling with his cane and walking cast. “I said I’ll be just a sec and here you are, ready to fall on your arse!”

Merlin is about to snap at him when his entire body begins to tilt dangerously. Eggsy grabs him because what kind of arsehole would he be if he didn’t and keeps the older man upright. “I needed a moment,” Merlin grouses, still wobbling.

“For what?” Eggsy inquires as he steadies his boyfriend’s equilibrium. “To break the _other_ leg?” He holds onto his biceps, watching as Merlin’s body finally stops resembling a Jenga tower on its last life.

Going from a cast and two crutches to a plastic monstrosity without the latter must be a bitch, not that Eggsy would know because he hasn’t had the pleasure of breaking his leg. Given his line of work, he’s certain that his time will come, but for now, he’s counting his luck.

Besides Merlin has been doing so well during physical therapy that he’d hate to see his boyfriend’s hard work go to shit because he was being a stubborn wanker.

“Hand me the cane, if you will,” Merlin groans, which Eggsy does with a kiss on his cheek. The beard he once sported is gone now, much to Eggsy’s dismay.

“I still miss it, you know,” Eggsy tells him, nuzzling the older man’s smooth skin. “The rugged look works for you, babe.”

Merlin slips his arm under his coat and holds his waist. “Oh, does it?” he questions, pressing his lips against the tip of Eggsy’s nose.

“Yeah,” Eggsy replies, slotting their mouths together for a brief kiss. “I’m a bit biased, but you’re fuckin’ hot. Best lookin’ bloke in all of the UK; have to kill the competition, I do!”

Gloved hand cards through his hair as Merlin chuckles fondly at Eggsy’s statement. “As much as I’d like to continue this scandalous conversation, I must remind you that we’re in a cemetery?”

“Oh right,” the lad says. He clears his throat while straightening his coat and taking a step back from Merlin’s sphere. Not too far though; Eggsy wants to be close by just in case. “Yeah…got to visit someone, don’t we?”

Merlin reaches for his hand. “If it’s too soon, we can always come back another time,” he assures, giving Eggsy’s fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Nah, we’s already here,” he counters, swiping a bouquet of peonies off the passenger seat and waves them about. “And we can’t let these go to waste.”

The older man nods. “Could always give them to your mum,” Merlin suggests as they lock up the rental and begin their slow walk towards Harry’s grave.

Eggsy’s snort in reply is one of distraction. He takes in the cemetery and thinks of how loving the place is with the neat rows of headstones and well-maintained grounds. Winter’s chill is finally giving way to spring, allowing for the plants in Brompton to grow into an array of greens, pinks, yellows, and whites.

It’s not as scary as he thought it would be, though they haven’t made it to the Hart family plot. All of his calm demeanor could change the moment Eggsy lays his eyes upon it. He might start wailing or speaking tongues for all he knows.

Then again, Merlin is steadfastly at his side and holding his hand as they approach a perfectly manicured patch of graves surrounded by a low metal fence. Harry’s headstone is easy to spot—it’s the newest after all—and seeing it momentarily punches the air from Eggsy’s lungs. He has to grip Merlin’s hand a bit harder before he regains his composure.

“Alright?” his boyfriend whispers. They are standing at the perimeter of the fence, where it opens to allow people to pass through.

“You’ll come with me, right?” Eggsy asks as he faces Merlin, looking anxious as ever.

That special grin is curling the edges of his lips, reaching into the depths of his hazel eyes. The one that makes Eggsy’s heart flutter inside his chest and warms his body from top to bottom. “Always,” he says, tightening the clasp of their hands. “You just say the word, _a ghràidh_.”

“Alright,” the lad sighs. “Let’s go visit our ol’ chum, shall we?”

So they go.


End file.
